The Best of the Worst
by Silenced Cry
Summary: ["Did you trust her?", Elena asks. "Yes." A pause, then a correction (with a sheepish smile), "Most times."] Years after the dust has settled, Elena films and interviews Nate, Chloe and Sully to hear all of the stories she wasn't a part of, and to close the chapter on their adventures. [ChloexNatexElena, Sully, Navarro] {Final Chapter!}
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hey everyone! I've lived and learned and finally felt like I could write something worth reading and hopefully true to the spirit of Uncharted. _**I wanted to experiment with a new style of writing**_ –one that was mostly emotional and personalized to the characters, as if you're treading through their exact thoughts/memories. For this reason, it may be sensational and disorderly, with time skips, but fun to read. I also wanted to design/fill out a backstory between Nate, Chloe and Sully that is mostly consistent with the series' plots. Enjoy and please review!

**Summary:** ["Did you trust her?", Elena asks. "Yes." A pause, then a correction (with a sheepish smile), "Most times."] Years after the dust has settled, Elena films and interviews Nate, Chloe and Sully to hear all of the stories she wasn't a part of, and to close the chapter on their adventures. [ChloexNatexElena, Sully, Navarro]

* * *

**The Best of the Worst**

**Chapter One **

"What was it like being partners with Nate?"

Chloe sighs and repeats the question in the empty air, avoiding the black void of the camera lens. It's taken her years of distraction to make herself forget the feelings that are rising up like bile on her tongue. She wants to say that being partners with him was not much different from her experience being in a relationship with him, but somehow, it seems like answering that way would be in poor taste. How many gun barrels has she stared down, or else pointed at some vague enemy with him, without him or because of him? Ups and downs, near-misses…years of paths crossing and uncrossing to lead them all to this point. These questions should be easier to answer.

"It was interesting", she says with a tight smile.

* * *

It's like waiting for a train. You shuffle your feet at the platform, try to remember the schedule, stare into empty space, wonder about everything and nothing because suddenly you have the time for it. But you don't really _want_ to have the time for it, you want to get wherever you're going. And at the moment you start to feel irrational, impatient or whatever little feeling that's amplified by the circumstances. It's enough to get you noticed, and a stranger eases your anxiety without even looking into your eyes, saying "It'll come". It's intuitive almost, like the situation causes you to think and feel the same things, and there's only this little coincidence of timing and intention keeping you together, waiting for this same train. But it's enough. More than enough. It does so much by doing so little. That's what it's like being with Nate.

He gets you to do things you never thought you'd do, and nine times out of ten it's out of necessity. But in that window of opportunity, that time when the smaller fraction is ruling our outcome, he's trying to push you to be better because this business shouldn't take _everything_ out of you. And we decided together, with that first smile, first kiss, our second and third heartbreaks, that we were going to be imperfect and human. Stealing, plotting, backstabbing all became second nature. Laughing, crying, loving…well, that was a bit harder. We found ways to reverse that didn't we? Little pockets of paradise on crumbling rooftops, seedy bars, backseats. In the end we couldn't find a place to fit them all. Not together anyways.

At least we have all those 'remember when's to bring us back to our young-ish days before the mess, and before the happy conclusion Nate got_. See, kid? Your luck never runs dry._

I remember when I could say those words to his face, with one half of intimate meaning. That time in Seville, the poor dear about to be caught; pulling him by his lapels into a darkened corner, my red-lipstick-smile, a kiss on his jaw and the thrumming, slick pressure of his reciprocations along my neck.

_But darling, I earn my luck in bits and pieces. _

He'd be a fool not to recognize it, and so he does. Every precise headshot, every sweetly-murmured negotiation in all the right ears. He knew the type of girl I was. Didn't stop him from wanting more than I could give.

_But goddammit Nate, it costs too much to be the hero all the time._ And we were starting to fight each other in small ways, because in hindsight, maybe our love was a bad seed. Sure it grew, but as time passed, it became less of what we expected until it was so foreign to us both that it wasn't worth nurturing. And sure, you let go first…but I made you do it.

* * *

"Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself."

Elena makes some indistinct adjustments to the equipment, and Chloe is suddenly very conscious of the possibility that her expression is revealing more than what's appropriate. Elena had said that this whole project was an attempt at catharsis for the four of them. It's uncomfortable getting to that point, and Chloe's not sure if she can give herself the patience needed for it.

"Take as much time as you need", she says.

It's been five years since the wedding. They've all had time to settle into whatever brand of future they were going to have apart from one another. And even though Chloe's mind can't help but wander, her hands can't help but search for skin (whether her own or another man's, but almost always in place of _his_), she knows it in her darkened little heart that Elena deserves to hear an abridged truth. That ring on Elena's finger is there through cumulative efforts, and not just Nathan's realization and Chloe's retreat. There's a whole history that was sacrificed, yielded up from Chloe and out of her own hands, so that Elena could live a life with him instead of her. It's not worth disturbing, even for her own catharsis. Besides, it's getting a bit late for all of this.

It's afternoon now, and Elena instructs her to sit closer to the left so that a shaft of sunlight catches on her hair and the side of her face. The darling, she cares about how all of this _looks_ ontop of everything else. It's even possible that she's reached that height of Maslow's hierarchy that makes it bearable for her to look at Chloe and not mind confronting the beauty that is so different from her own; that dangerous opportunity, from behind the lens, to view Chloe as her husband might have, even if only for a brief flicker.

Elena is the bigger person out of the two of them, because she doesn't falter for a minute. She's so calm, and barely there at all, "Maybe start from the beginning."

* * *

The beginning? Stories like ours don't start that way. Things happen, and you're lead together and apart by the same merciless hand. And you're always bruised from the journey away from that same spot that the return is more than often just added insult. It's better to run from the memories rather than dwell in them. Maybe some of this is sounding like superstition, but it comes from self-taught preservation techniques before Sully got to me: things like, never visit the same place twice when you're being followed; let yourself feel fear sometimes, because you never know what inventive solution can come from human error.

"Things don't always happen the right way for you. I can tell", Sully had said. And he was right. He didn't even know me yet, and he was right.

I was sixteen and making all of my mistakes early, missing all my shots, taking on a job I couldn't handle: discern the whereabouts of a certain Victor Sullivan, steal a map and report back. The man I worked for was someone I wanted to please, because at the time, the money mattered less than the credibility. So I agreed, and pushed back that lump of unease, that feeling that you're only a pawn for a larger purpose.

What do I remember? Driving without a license, scaling rooftops, finding him in dim torchlight amongst the mosquitoes. Wanting to satisfy that touch of bloodlust and little-girl's pride, so I took him by surprise and the struggle isn't much of one because the knife I carried is flung across the ground alongside his cigar. And he trips me too hard, the stiff, booted leather against my ankle, and the terrible self-conscious seconds between falling on my hip in the sand and that personal shock that comes from being winded: the realization that you don't know what your next move will be, and dammit you're _running out of time_. I could hear his slightly amazed words from above, "You're just a kid."

And in the time it takes him to say that, he wants to take it back because I'm closer to being a woman than a child. I let him notice, I let myself play submissive because while he's suffering through his tangled desire, I can win this. But when you're a woman playing a man's game, getting caught is different, the consequences are harder to bear. And it's a stroke of paternalism and snide cruelty when Sully bends down to meet me ("Relax"), avoiding the sand I'm kicking up, all the rearing of mine like I'm a wild horse, and the half-gains I make against him before I fall on my back. And he surprises me, because I'm not expecting a single moment of kindness (but these things happen when you least expect them).

He takes my hurt ankle in his warm palms and stretches my leg out towards him, letting the bottom of my foot rest on his chest like a halted kick. I can feel the steady _thump thump_ of his heart through my sole, and it magnifies and separates into my own pain as his thumb presses and kneads.

"It's twisted", he says.

"It didn't get that way by itself", and for the way he's looking at me, half-amused and agitated, Sully wasn't expecting me to spit back any amount of indignance. I'm not in a position to. But I'm a fighter even when I'm down, and he can recognize it in me because he's like that too.

A scoff, a sharp look, the beginnings of desire starting to uncoil and recline itself.

"You should've known better", he says. Then, "Get up."

He doesn't help me at first, because lessons like these should be learned the hard way; examples have to be set. I whimper before I shift my weight onto my other leg, and his eyes travel up from the cigar he picked up off the sand to my face in a _very_ slow journey.

"Hurts more than you thought it would?"

It did, and for so many reasons: fighting a fight I wasn't ready for and losing; finding sympathy in an enemy; being _sixteen_ and a _girl_ and not good enough except for the cheap victories that come from inviting lust. And worst of all, realizing how expendable I was when Sully, gritting his teeth and squinting his eyes, criticizes, "They didn't even give you a gun?"

Then, saving me embarrassment, "You're damn lucky I'm a gentleman", he says.

I don't know why the hell he did the things he did when he met me, but Sully scooped me up in his arms and carried me to his porch, iced the ankle he twisted, then sent me home in a cab. Before he shut the car door, he leaned in close against the window and smiled all Cheshire-like, "Don't look for me again."

* * *

"Did you?" Elena asks.

The camera lens takes in all the specifics of Chloe's mental maneuvering: the dampened, pursed lips; the eyes made unnaturally vivid with all the light –grey like a lynx's, rising up then away because staring down a piece of equipment doesn't intimidate it away.

They can both tell that she doesn't want to continue telling this story, but she does.

"I didn't have to. It took me two and a half years, but I got better at this game. I was out in the field, finding new partners, getting the bigger cut of the deal. It was all routine. Then, thousands of miles from where we first started, he found me. This time, with Nate."

There is a pause. Elena knows she can stop right here before she touches upon a piece of the past that she won't be able to bury. But the story is worth it. It's their story, and it needs to be told. So she swallows the sour taste in her mouth and spares Chloe an encouraging glance.

"Tell me about it."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** This chapter is one of my favourites in spite of the difficulty of capturing Sully's character in writing. Please read, review and enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

"Was it all worth it?"

He bounces his knee slightly, and the edge of his scuffed leather shoes makes a solid tapping noise on the linoleum. In some ways it's a difficult question, and his usual cut and dry practicality seems tacky in the circumstances –afterall, this is no risky heist, not some backdoor negotiation in the wilds. It's Elena and film equipment. When she told him about her little project, he joked about submitting himself to her interrogation. He didn't know what he was expecting. But he wasn't expecting a question like that.

Sully looks out the window, squints at the late noon sun. He feels like an old cat, all his instincts bundled up inside of him with nowhere to go. There are many secrets he feels he should still keep, maybe because he came from a different time, maybe because he's still loyal to this business even if it was a dirty one. When he turns back to face the camera, his eyes fixate on Elena's wedding band –it glints here and there on her delicate finger; she's a journalist –it makes sense that all her scars have healed up from the last of their adventures. He looks at his own hands, brown and creased, stippled with the worst of his wounds that eventually closed up on their own. He's proud and sad at the same time. Was it worth it?

"Elena…there's a certain unpleasantness in this business. Every man is as good as the other, except for the ones who are much worse."

She almost snickers behind her post, and is rewarded with Sully's cavalier smirk, his whiskers shading into an ethereal white where the light touches him.

"We're the worst kind of gamblers," he continues, lifting a cigar to his lips and patting his pockets in search of a lighter. Out of luck, he takes it from his mouth and looks at it meaningfully, as if for the first time, thinking that you need both things to make something work. Sometimes you can't get one without the other.

"We risk our lives", he says, "And we don't know when to quit."

* * *

I've been to this place in my mind before, where you can almost feel the humanity slipping away like raindrops. And during that process of slippage, your attentions are focused on the insignificant minutiae of the moment.

There's a locust on my passport, and it's sitting so still and large like some stone monster. Disgust and fascination –those are the paired feelings that originate from looking at that insect from the stilted view on my back, on the filthy mattress of my station, fighting my first war. When I shoot and kill a man in uniform for the first time, it brings me back to that exact moment, those exact feelings. It occurs to me over and over that humans shouldn't be stone monsters, but when they die, they end up being less than what they were.

And sometimes, when I wake up in the stifling midnight heat of some godforsaken jungle, with Nate in varying degrees of dark or light (but always nearby), there's _guilt_. This legacy of cruel survival is not what I wanted to pass along. Maybe I'm not really saving this kid afterall. Hell, when we pick pockets from dead men, he wipes the blood off the coins and carries on. We're all born with a conscience right?

The fire that we started is dying. Nate pokes the tinder with a stick, and the embers roll themselves out into the dark. He sighs like an old man, "We need some more firewood. I'll be back."

Nate scratches the bristly scruff on the underside of his chin as he gets up; so proud, he's always fussing over it. He's growing up. He's treating every bit of help I offer like it's castration. I try to explain to him everyday –the jungle's got everything we need, and some things that we don't. This time I hold my tongue on that topic, move onto another with a snide smile, "Get yourself a razor blade while you're at it. You look a mess."

He has the decency to grin back as he's rubbing his chin, "I'm growing it out to look like yours."

Wave him off, "Smart mouth."

There's a sound in the dark and we both halt like frozen soldiers, our last breaths already inside of us. It's a velvet black movement, shadows reassembling in the night. Sharp, glistening eyes on us; I've seen this imperial look once before. When you stare down a jaguar, you remember it; and you remember to let its gaze shift first. Sweaty palms, a primal fear to match the circumstances. So many slow seconds spent unmoving and then Nate, a shadow himself, slowly raises his gun. I feel the ascension of his daring by my side. _Stupid kid._

"No", I whisper, pushing the barrel of his gun down. Nate looks at me from the corner of his eye, and I can tell that he doesn't want to listen to me. The animal surveys us patiently, those eyes unblinking, unwavering. Satisfied with the terror it inspired, the jaguar lumbers away in its slow prowl.

"Why didn't you let me?", he's angry and prideful, sneering at the spot in the dark that we were just staring at. "Aim and fire –easy."

I look him in the eye, "Don't say that. It's not easy. It should _never_ be easy."

All the young invincibility, and untested confidence is subtracted from him, and he feels it. He doesn't understand yet –you give respect to the dark and the things that live in it, and _hope and pray_ that you don't become one of them.

Nate learns quickly after that; he always does. I'm proud of him –he's starting to grow up to be more like himself and less like me. Always has his head in some book he's swiped; Latin, 16th century architecture, lost civilizations. The pages are all dog-eared and scribbled on, pushed in front of my nose with the kind of excited question only he can ask, "Do you know what this means?" The kid has a knack for riddles and maps and getting out of sticky situations. And all the girls have hungry eyes for him, but he doesn't take advantage half as much as he should. He's got a more dangerous preoccupation at the moment: a native ritual item worth a pretty penny. It took weeks tracking it, and we got to it…just too late. The temple is empty when we find it, everything useful already scavenged out and not by us.

It takes a lot of convincing for him to let this one alone. Drag our tired feet back to where we started, store this one away as a lesson learned. We're wetting our muzzles, drumming our fingers on the bar, and Nate's cooped up inside his own head.

"Stop worrying, kid. We're next in line for something good", I say.

He shakes his head, bites the inside of his cheek, "Doesn't make any sense."

The evening heat falls on us like a slow haze, so we keep the crickets company in the alley outside until the bar closes. Light a cigar, search for more interesting scenery than a brick wall, and right before we leave we hear it. We're exactly where we need to be.

Go in through the back door, wait for two sets of footsteps to stop before we peer between the wooden blinds. It's been years, but I know that pretty face when I see it. That kitten-ish look is gone –she's all wildcat now. Traded in her lipstick and painted nails for combat boots and shorts. Nate's attention is fully caught long before we see her set the treasure we've been looking for on the empty bar. There's a dark-haired man that's caught up to her, and the way she lets him follow and near close suggests an old intimacy running dry. Nate tenses, and his hand lingers near his gun. I catch his eye and shake my head, this isn't the time; let's see how this storm plays out. Poor kid –he's already jealous.

"I don't want your tricks", the man says, getting a good grip on her forearm. I know that face too –back alley circuits in South America, quick hands, and I'm glad Nate and I avoided all those bad deals…it's Roman's boy, Navarro.

"Then give me my share, love", she meets that disgruntled fury in his eyes with slick charm.

He presses her back against the bar, smiles slow, "_Cosita_." She leans back for the attentions she's getting down her neck, her arm stretching out like a swan's wing across the bar. "How much do you think you're worth?", he says snidely.

None of us is quick enough to see it until it's done, but she's grabbed a beer bottle and smashed it against the side of the bar with that swan wing, ready to twist it into his gut. Lucky for him he's fast, and there's a healthy space between them. He only looks half-shocked.

"Don't insult me Navarro."

"Your temper has been costing us both and you know it. You think he doesn't notice? We run off with that", he points to the ritual item on the bar, "and you know how this is going to end. "

"I'll find out on my own." Smart girl, she doesn't turn her back to him when she takes the treasure. Navarro looks her up and down; maybe there were feelings there afterall because he's angrier than he should be.

"_Two years_ together Chloe, and you're going to end it like this?"

Silence, and then her silky voice, "I can do better."

He looks a little sorry as he draws his gun, "I can't let you leave."

Nate's done watching the theatrics and wants to make his own: he fires into the glass wall behind the bar to create a diversion, and Chloe takes advantage. And when Navarro escapes, and the dust settles, her eyes are on me, remembering.

"I didn't ask for your help", she says. It's her pride talking now, and it's deserved.

"You didn't need any. I just missed you", I wink.

There are quick introductions and travel plans made after that, and the rest is history. Everything came fast in those early days; the three of us were in search of something better, satisfaction in all realms. We worked together like a good machine, and all of the inbetween moments were filled up with their foolhardy and easy romance. It was easy to predict. Hell, Nate stopped learning from his books and started learning from her. He still wanted my approval (as if it mattered).

"What do you think of her?" Nate had asked, trying not to look shy and won over in front of me.

"She's clever for her age", I had said. I meant it. Thinking back to a moment alone in the drizzle, Chloe at my back watching me tie a boat to its post. "My father was in the navy too", she had said. I was surprised that she noticed so much, that she knew this much from the type of knot I tied. "I'm not your father", I said, and we both eased into the same smile. _Yeah she's real clever. _

Chloe's the kind of girl who knows how to get the upper hand without doing very much. It's a natural dishonesty that comes with charm, we could hardly fault her for it. Even so, Nate met his match in her, and he succumbed to her completely as all first loves require. It's an old pattern –this touch and go sensitivity between men and women, not unlike Kate and I in our simpler moments…

I know what their love is like. I've seen it before. It's like watching power trade hands, suddenly it's there and then it isn't. They're both like kids, and I guess they are –someone always has to be winning, and more often than not, it's Chloe. Chloe, with her voice that's too rich for the ears, her presence like a little cat (cause you always feel her cunning before her kindness). Except when you don't. She's got those moments of softness, and hell, if only I could teach her that she could afford more of them without sacrificing her strength.

We saw it best in Australia, that little impromptu vacation we took after dodging another lightning strike. Got a little strip of island to ourselves, and we're all new and fresh from being around white sand, blue sky and golden heat.

I turn my back and there she is, sneaking a sip of the drink I made for myself. "To the best of the worst", she winks and tips the glass towards me jovially before taking another sip and placing it back into my hands. A tiptoed kiss on my chin, and my hand just grazes her waist as she runs away laughing with halted steps towards Nate and the shoreline. She's trouble and in some ways, _different_ ways, Nate and I are sinking into her charm. Nate'll learn soon enough –girls like that don't need to be worshipped; they know how to please themselves.

Little moments like these say so much. Sandy knees, hiking up her dress and untying a little white fishing boat from its post before pushing it out to the waves. She settles into it like a queen and watches Nate hop into the water after her, gleaming from his attention. "Such a gentleman", she laughs as he propels the boat from behind, swimming like a fish. "Don't get too used to it", he says. She leans over the side of the boat to face him and he kisses the back of her hand.

They're far enough into the privacy of the ocean now, but it brings back a remembrance of love before war, of my arm around a warm waist that wilts all willowy into my touch. Even hearts like Chloe's soften entirely to these little gestures.

I remember thinking, yeah, I know that kind of love. It doesn't last long, but the scars do.

* * *

Sully has the wisdom and attention to notice the little, fractured thoughts that Elena is entertaining from behind the camera; her brow creases with them. He can count on her weighing the balance of her sacrifices and theirs. There are days that he depends on her to smooth out his and Nate's reckless habits, to sometimes indulge their better moods and stifle the bad ones. He knows her type. She can't stand not knowing. But sometimes knowing is worse.

Sully won't deny her this lesson, so he stands his ground when she asks, "Do you feel bad about any of the things you've done?"

He thinks of peering through scopes, missing the beach, and coming away from the worst of it all with Nate by his side.

"There are always casualties. It can't be helped."

* * *

It's been years, and we're all living off of our spoils. We've traded in sunlight for city lights, pavement, line-ups at grocery stores. My bones are aching for some struggle, but it's the end of the line. I have too much time to think about all the things I've done; horrible things, in civilian spaces. Then there's the one good thing: Nate. That's why I'm here now, visiting an old haunt, waiting for her to turn up.

"Victor, bloody, Sullivan", she grabs my chin and her thumb rests warm on my whiskered, satisfied smile. Chloe, she's all sensation. I kiss that thumb and hold that hand. It feels like it's been centuries. She's gotten older, but no less beautiful –her eyes have darkened, not so viper-sharp anymore, the smiles and frowns come more slowly; all of her gestures take more patient, meaningful travels. Her aura though, it's still a slow-burning fire; blow on the coals and reap the reward or suffer the pains.

"I've missed you", I say.

"Oh you say that to all your girls", she laughs and takes her hand from me.

We stand side by side in peaceful silence, counting stars and streetlights, listening to all the noise pollution offered up by the city. "You know, I'm not here for long", she says. "I'm leaving for Australia in a few days."

"Business or pleasure?"

She shrugs and gives a half-smile across her shoulder. It's that look that Nate sometimes got back in his adventuring days –she's turning hollow, waiting to be filled up by something that's all nerve, all adrenaline feeling. She hasn't stopped wanting that feeling, hasn't had a reason to. Nate does…this time he does.

"Chlo, I wanted to tell you before you heard it from him."

Eyes on me, so vulnerable in her wait.

"They're getting married", I say.

It's quieter now than it's ever been. Her look, it's like all the portraits of their past have fallen. All of her strength has bristled into self-conscious composure, an old insecurity rising up. She takes a breath.

"Can you be happy for him?", I ask.

"Of course", she sounds offended. "Of course." A shake of the head, a fragile smile as she brushes a strand of hair aside, "He deserves a love like that. They both do."

"I wouldn't have expected it any other way."

Maybe it's the way I've said it. Maybe it's the way we're both remembering that it hasn't been long since the three of us were reunited, since the looks between them were becoming too revealing, their hearts revisiting. But for whatever reason, Chloe's looking at me with the intensity of a storm. I'm the father, roosting on wisdom and old conclusions, and she's thinking back to all the times that my love for her was laced with disapproval for all of Nate's heartbreaks.

"Men don't marry women like me, right?"

A halted laugh curling at my throat, "Not if they're smart."

Her slap stings hard because it's deserved, exactly what I was expecting. I meant what I said, but not in the way she thinks, not entirely.

"You're easy to love but hard to keep Chloe. I think you know that", I say.

She doesn't go far, and it's not because of my words. Her passion hasn't been spent and she needs someone to listen and receive her bite.

"Are you here to tell me or take advantage?" She says it like she's forgotten that we're friends.

Our shadows touch. "You should know the answer to that by now."

A deep breath, letting all the weakness out. Bring her close, press a kiss to her temple (she's still such a girl in some ways). "The two of you flew too high, swam too far", I say. "It's done now. "

She manages a weak laugh through her tears and hides herself against my coat.

"It is", she says.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three **

"You're nervous."

Elena presses her nose to his before returning to her equipment. There's a certain beauty in catching her husband off-guard, and with something as tedious and common as sitting in front of a camera. It took a lot of convincing to get him to participate in her little journalistic project, and a part of her knows that Nate would rather just let his legacy take whatever form it wants. He of all people understands the power in a story; it was Sir Frances Drake's that seduced him first, so completely and mysteriously that he risked his life time and again for it. This story won't be like that. It will be _theirs_. It will be a final chapter of their collective creation. There isn't anything else left to hide is there?

"_We're just so far from it now", he had said last night. "It's been years." Elena recognized this hesitance of his, the ambiguously explained rationale for it. "It'll be as easy or difficult as you make it", she had said, channeling her annoyance into persistence. _

Daylight is slipping away from them, but Elena lets it be –the gloomy, white light of outside is making playful shadows in the room. She has her husband in the frame, arms crossed, looking out the window. The distraction softens his features, and not for the first time, Elena is struck by how handsome he is. The camera takes in all of him –the beginnings of salt and pepper in his hair, the rippled scar on his forearm…being an adventurer is in his blood, she's sure of it. He's eased into a different life with her, committed himself to something simpler, but it's still there, staring her in the face. That's the first thing that needs to be asked…

"Why did you get into this business?"

* * *

I asked this same question once before, and Elena's words echo back until they reach their original source and moment…

Chloe reclining herself on the hostel windowsill, cleaning a knife, easing into the jungle-green darkness that is her backdrop. We're so close to the wild, on the fringes of the first humid gasp before the unknown takes over. It's not the first time we've been thrown together, but this time she's here long enough for me to appreciate it. There are sustained injuries (all minor), and no good reason for her to stick around, but in that muddy grey 20-something mind of mine, I'm grateful she is for all the wrong reasons. Sully knew it immediately. Lust isn't any excuse to trust her, but she can shoot clean and rough it with the best of us.

"How do they make 'em like her?", Sully had whistled with all kinds of dirty appreciation, loud enough for her to hear. And she handles him better than most, cause she's smiling instead of glaring. Get in the car with the windows rolled down, crowd together between us both, try to ignore that earth and cinnamon scent. Trouble goes wherever she does. We just happen to be going in the same direction.

When Chloe looks at me, it's through her lashes, like some gracious, primal gesture. Like she already knows what I'm about. But hell, she's still so young –she shouldn't know this much. Are we really meeting for the first time? Doesn't feel like it.

I closed the door behind me without knowing why, and she smiled as if I've already given away some essential part of myself for her pleasure.

"Why are you helping us?"

Stretching her legs out, leaning her head back, clothes clinging in the heat and she doesn't even realize it (how can she not realize it?).

"I have time to kill", was her insincere, velvet-smooth answer.

"You should stick around", I say. Lean close to that feeling she's nurturing, keep your back against the wall, and keep your chin up high. Don't be so easily impressed. Scratch at my two-day-old scruff, watch her eyes follow the gesture, remember that I'm probably enough of the kind of man she wants.

"To collect my spoils?", she purrs. Too late to get out now –we already understand each other.

When I laugh, she smiles beautifully. It's in that instant that I feel it intuitively –we're made of the same components, more or less; it's like seeing yourself differently.

So I have to ask, "Why are you in this business?"

We're both suddenly very conscious of the nighttime sounds, the open window we're resting at and how our voices are resounding like the only ones representing humanity in the slick edge of jungle. I light a match to keep the darkness away, and we're looking at the same indecipherable spot in the distance. This alone means something.

"There's no other feeling like this in the world", she says. It sounds innocent and stupid and _honest_, and these are the exact same words I've used before. And her voice with mine rings backwards and forwards to underscore every profound and meaningless moment that we've ever had.

_Remember that, ace? _Howling at the wolves together like idiots, with our laughter like chilled air misting around us when they answer back. Lying on our backs at the back of that filthy pickup truck, with Sully swerving, bringing us elbow to elbow then hip to hip. Her voice, breathless but strong, "Faster, Sully, faster!" Our rifles in the desert air, and she's correcting my sight, assisting my grip as Sully guns it, and she's shooting more holes into the Range Rovers following us than me. Swimming in adrenaline, clothes being slowly rolled down and off, and _Jesus, where did she learn to do that?_

We had enough time together for me to ask, "Are you ready?" and for her to answer, without missing a beat, "Always."

_For Chrissake, hearts don't always break like this._

* * *

Nate follows the path of her questions and knows where they lead before she even gets there. It's such a wicked little game and he's uncomfortable with disturbing the tranquility of their love for the sake of a good story. He thinks of the touchy conversations they've had about this, the drawbacks of her investigative nature, the impassioned late night conclusions that resolved any hurt feelings.

"_I want to know what came before me", she had said. "I want to know __you__." He held her tight, "You do." _

He meant it, and he still does. But his most private self doesn't want the intimacies of every old memory fingerprinted by her endless curiosity. Nate unconsciously twists his wedding band around his finger. It feels so much warmer than the rest of him.

"Did you trust her?", Elena asks.

It feels like the ground is shifting, opening up a chasm of old feelings, most of which have lost their power. They're still there though, all lined up neat and commanding his attention.

"Yes." A pause, then a correction (with a sheepish grimace-smile), "Most times."

* * *

There are always doubts circling a girl like her, the kind that bring up old insecurities that torture through to your being. You either conquer them or you don't; you blame her, bite her, kiss her, and it all works itself through in your head. How many of these feelings can you shake away? And it's funny how the mind works. I saw her sitting alone at a table, chair braced against grimy, painted brick, waiting for Sully and I to come. And there was a stray dog lazily nearing her, almost resting against her knee, and she smoothed her knuckles on its fur –the simplest gesture in the world. At the moment, the doubt is abated. It doesn't even make sense, but it does. Trust had its moment, and it let us fast forward into darker dangers.

"Keep your head down, kids."

Here we are in the heat, and I'm getting used to her slow, liquid smiles; waiting for all the embellishments to arrive on her face, trying to make this feeling seem common: _but a cheap wink doesn't tell the whole story, ace_. There's so much more to this feeling that we can't explore, because we're back where _I_ started.

Columbia is throwing shadows across our faces, and this whole place is burning for us, swallowing up the gunfire and letting us all in. A vicious, corrugated lance of pain, and blood on Sully's side. Are we winning or losing? Surface wounds start to feel like deeper ones. Remember that look you gave me when the dust settled?

"Buck up, cowboy. It only gets worse from here."

It's like a smoldering detonation, a graceful resignation to the circumstances, and a tooth-and-claw fight to the finish. Like when all those moments of desperation climb ontop of each other, and you root yourself down into your darkest animal to keep on going. That's what it was like with Chloe –fighting with her, against her, for her. _Shake off that evil feeling, Nate. She's better than she even knows._ It's enough to keep me going.

That whole city fell for us, and it's like bombing empty space with our enemies trying to destroy more than they could keep. Our palms are all cut up from near-misses, jumping across rooftops (you know, that old routine), but we've gained all the ground we needed and her hand is in mine. Doesn't mean I have her. _Hardly_. And Sully's quietly noticing, waiting for a moment alone to offer up advice I never asked for.

"You'll need more luck than you've got to survive this one", he says.

"No one compares to her", I say.

And Sully, he waits before he's rolled his cigar, pauses before he lights it. "Yeah", he says, "there's a reason for that."

Sully's got a callused heart. He doesn't understand.

* * *

"There are lots of hard lessons to learn when you're young."

Nate gives a dismissive shrug, and his eyes level with the camera. "I wasn't ready for all of them. But I guess it just works out like that. Everything just works out."

Elena looks at his steepled fingers, his elbows propped up on his knees. She follows the motion of his hands ruffling through his hair, the storm calming in his gaze, and finally that winning smile meant just for her.

"Everything works out for the best."

* * *

Being with her was like being led to the ends of yourself –the heightened anxiety, the hateful insecurity…every bad feeling surfaces up into the air between all the unbelievably good moments. And it's just a reciprocation on my part because she's feeling every wave of her own intensity. _But we're in this together, ace_.

"Just don't look down", I say.

"Well looking up won't help", she says, and the smoothness of her voice is coming in clipped, like an aria cut short because there's that blanched fear ruling over her. A halted breath in the still air, and gritted teeth, like the warrior in her has left, and what remains is just a girl (lipstick-pretty and smiling heartbreak –_and haven't I been waiting for these rare glimpses?_). It's baring down on us all the same –she stumbles into vulnerability instead of offering it, and my pride is failing in this stilted exchange.

"We can't jump, Nate. We won't make it."

She's more than likely right. This cliff is higher than most, and we've cornered ourselves trying to get away from Navarro's men. I grab her hand in mine, and there is only the pronounced feeling of chilled sweat and _doubt_. When I try to meet her eyes, she looks up and into the sky, and she's counting every bridge she's burned because of me. There's one tangle of stressed, helpless anger coursing between us, but we won't acknowledge it. A minute isn't nearly long enough to think of a way out of this.

We're not looking at the constellations like we used to, but our blind eyes are up in that darkness. Stars, footsteps, and waiting til the very last moment to decide by default, waiting to _feel_ our options sink down to just one: jump.

There's the North Star. "It won't be so bad, Chlo. It's like making a wish. Close your eyes and jump."

But she scoffs and tugs at my hand, pulls me back. And there's that dead resolve, that last-resort, biting-back-your-own-heart resolve, like she's exited herself in a single move.

That ugly silence, realizing she's going to win this for us the dirty way. I've seen this before.

There's red in my eyes, tacky glitz, cheap beer, and Chloe singing karaoke in a beach bar, winking at all the men but choosing _me_. And there's Sully in my ear, waxing poetic, telling that old fable of the scorpion and the frog –"It's just her nature."

It seems like there's no way to just hold her and keep her, but this is the time to try.

"You're _not_ giving yourself to them."

"We have _no choice_! This isn't worth dying over, Nate. Not this time."

Wandering as a lost child, feeling all kinds of hungers, all kinds of thirsts. That unfathomable, wrenching feeling of neglect that repeats and repeats like so many disembodied voices that speak of a mother's suicide. It's the same feeling, just with the dust of year's past shaken off. Chloe's looking me in the eye this time, and that rude reminder is between us: loving her won't make her stay. _And God, isn't that the one reason you should?_

"Everything we do is worth dying over", I say.

But we're out of time. And when those guns are pointing at us and we're forced to throw ours off that ledge, it's like she's tossing out the best parts of me. It makes it easier. When I jump, I feel nothing at all except that quiet ache of knowledge that she's up there making herself cheap to save a life without me.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** This was my favourite chapter to write -hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Four**

They enter the room separately, like caged animals finding one another in the wild –familiar and wary, like all of their secrets will tell themselves. There aren't that many secrets left –Elena has sorted through them like old photos, satisfying her journalist's eye with each colour and texture. And of course, she's been trained to notice the details: Chloe's smile is full of camaraderie, it makes her want to smile back as she sets up the camera; and Nate's body naturally angles towards hers as they both take a seat. Soldiers in arms –that's what it's like seeing them together, even now.

A bird flies past the window, and as the camera starts rolling, Elena notices how both of their eyes turn to that movement. It's this synchronization that troubles her slightly if nothing else. It's the last clue to their old romance, one that will never leave. Elena's sightline lingers at the frame she's set up, her husband and Chloe contained neatly in that box of a screen. Elena worries, not for the first time, that the pull of his former glories has grown too strong. He sees them all in Chloe's eyes, even though he's careful not to near too close. Chloe knows what she represents; so she keeps away. There are two lines of fidelity here. And Elena wants to know how deep they run. It's worth it to skip the interlude –that's where the truth is.

So she asks, "What was the worst part of it all?"

Nate looks at Chloe and Chloe looks at her hands.

"Losing faith", she says.

* * *

There's no feeling worse than that, like everything important is outside of you, lost its use, its meaning. I've been angry before, but now I wanted to be a monster, to feed my darker passions. Chloe lit the flame and walked away. And it seems like Sully's always in my ear now, "Take it easy, kid. Take it easy." I'm bruising my knuckles, sparing bullets, feeling no heat from the sun, no coldness in the damp night.

"Give it time", he says, bandaging my broken hand. I don't notice any other lipsticked smiles. I'm a tomb of old feelings wondering where exactly all the love went. _I hate you as much as I miss you, Chlo_. _You left me with all the memories._

Forehead to forehead, silhouetted by the moon. Such a crucial moment, our pulses stop for it. "I don't know what I want anymore", she had said. "I just don't want to be weak." She's expecting teeth in the grass, eyes in the shadows, but it's only me and her. Nothing to fear. "You aren't", I said, and her skin swallowed up the words where I kissed her. So warm. Her thighs crossed and uncrossed. I can't give up all of these places that I visit. She yielded, all liquid softness, familiar rhythms, let me push her onto her back so long as I followed her down. _But we were running out of ways to make this better, weren't we? You wanted out. I couldn't get you to stop fighting me. _

All we're having are restless nights now, Sully and I. I'm cutting corners, getting us noticed, hoping you'll hear about us. I'm just aching for our paths to cross again just like they always did. I want to see if you'll be able to face me. There's nothing for a year, nothing but your name on the tip of my tongue and exhaustion beyond exhaustion. All kinds of carelessness take over; time isn't healing much. We seem to be living in a permanent rough patch, and this time there are too many guns pointed at me. When I'm captured, Sully isn't around –it's for the best.

Fifteen days in this jail cell, and I only get one beam of sunlight at noon from where the window is angled. Footsteps, and it flickers. I stare at the chapped concrete, the constant filth that it knows.

"I had a dream about you."

My breath is gone; the only thing that's left to be is still, and I can't even manage that. My fingers rake roughly through my hair detachedly, an old stress habit. I look glossily at the back turned to me. The prison bars press neat against her shirt where she leans against them. I have a distinct urge to trail my fingers along the warm rectangles of her skin.

"Oh yeah", I finally say, non-committal.

"It's funny really. You were left to rot in a prison just like this one. Except eventually, you found a key."

One foot in front of the other, and we're so close in spite of our separation. The nape of her neck looks so vulnerable.

"But when you went to put it in the lock, it turned into a snake and slithered away", she continues. A little sound, like she's embarrassed maybe.

I hold tight to the bars that bank the perimeter of her body in place of where my hands truly want to go. I swipe my tongue, quick and smooth against the skin of her shoulder. She tastes of peppery sweetness. A shaky laugh. I've already forgiven most of her sins.

"You know how to get me out of here Chloe", it's not a question, but a realization.

"I'll try my best", she says.

Her best got me out of there, gun in hand and her shadow walking alongside mine. Sully didn't say anything when we found him, but his gratitude had limits. "A leopard without its spots is still a leopard", he said. But we needed money so badly, we were hungry for a lucky break, and even if he was wary from watching my back, Sully grew to trust her talents as much as I did…again.

We were coming back to the winning side, drunk in a lonely bar, having all the fun we ever needed. Sully twirls her around and still spinning, laughing, she changes the song on an old jukebox. She's dizzy and giddy by the time she gets to my lap and our kisses don't land where we want them to. Everything should be this easy and perfect. Lean my head back into her palm, feel her steady grin against my neck. "I have you", she says. Clutch the thin material of her blouse and hold on tight, "Always."

But I can't be as free spirited as that. My trust palpitates, it wavers. She's beginning to shy away from the lead and keeps to the back when we hear that Navarro's in town. I'm jealous of everything around her, every look, every connection she's made in this business. And when she turns away from my kiss, it's my warning in her ear, "Pick a damn side."

Our conversations are a long time coming; all we have is unresolved business. Hiding out in an old villa near the coast, lighting candles to keep the dark away, ignoring her eyes trying to catch mine. Sully rests a hand on both of our shoulders, "Don't be so cruel to one another for god's sake."

Old anxieties are taking over, and I want to leave every place we visit. I want her chasing my shadow, trying to keep up.

The breeze is stirring and the smoothed edges of this clay villa are darkened by the night. Take an old brazier in hand, approach the beginning of the storm. I'm the only light in the dark for a long time, and then her fire meets mine. My toes curl against the cold of the sand.

I think of all the incomplete years between us, the time spent together and apart. The broad strokes of our story are there, but the details are always changing.

"Why can't I guess what happens next with you?"

She looks at me and I look at the ocean. It feels as if everything is happening too late.

"You _know_ what happens", she says.

"I didn't last time."

The wind picks up, and her flame dies. I can't see her face anymore, just the outline of what she's supposed to be. We're so close and so far from each other.

"It doesn't matter what I say right now. You're scared", she says. "You're so scared you're going to make the decision for me."

She's crying now, I can hear it in her voice. Tears don't matter –she's just afraid of losing something familiar. We're scared of each other in the dark, aren't we?

"I am. I'm scared you're exactly what you look like", I say.

Brush off the hand that reaches out to me, fall hard on my hands and knees in the wet sand. I look up at her from where she tripped me, feeling shocked from the sting of it and the sudden frigid sheet of the tide licking at my skin. She looks _mean_ and ashamed from that insult. And _entitled_. I hate her now more than I've ever hated her. I watch her feet, standing still and vulnerable, imperious like a statue. I watch those feet take a step away from me, grab her ankle, watch her fall.

_You don't get to walk away from this either. Both of us should get what we deserve._

She turns onto her back, and we're both soaked through and through. I won't let go, and she doesn't resist. Pull her down by that ankle, rest my head between her hips. Breathe deep and let our heartbeats find each other. This is goodbye.

"I can't make this better", she says. The quiver of her words travels through her to me. It's the last thing we'll share.

"I know."

* * *

If there are tears in Chloe's eyes, even the camera can't tell. But there's a resolute sadness and conviction in her voice; these thoughts of hers have had time to age and settle in her understanding of life and love and the world.

"Everything can change in an instant. And all it takes is that instant. It's the way of the world, you can't be sorry about it", she says.

"No. You can", Nate says. They look at each other as if for the first time, not recognizing one another. Perhaps the words are too unexpected. It has the startled effect of a single guitar string, strummed in a quiet room. "There are some things I would have handled differently", he continues.

Chloe looks distinctly as if she does not want to hear the rest of this –it's treading on old ground with a different set of eyes. She doesn't have the presence of mind, nor the desire to question him further. Elena knows that she should take this opportunity to press him, but the silence between the three of them is making her sick. It all sounds too much like her husband is apologizing to an old love; it makes her feel like a stranger in the room. The commitment and history that is privately theirs suddenly turns shallow.

Nate feels the shift in the air and understands it only peripherally. He can't find Elena's eyes; the camera obstructs everything. So he follows the thread of her thought back to its origin and lifts them all out of discomfort.

"You asked what the worst part was, right?" An old sigh, a return to old pains, "It was losing myself."

* * *

Here we are, hiding our small flames with bruised palms, shuffling through the unfamiliar darkness. We're wearing the same skin –that same rigid, harassed look of fighters forced to be fugitives. Sully can see it in me, clear as day –the stirrings of that caged-in animal anxiety of mine, like when I was sixteen and chewing my thumbnail ragged. He looks at me pointedly, "Feel like switching out?"

"Stop."

Tensions are running high, otherwise he never would have said it. The sting behind it met its mark though. We're stuck in this abandoned town, running low on every resource and waiting out the minutes until our target shows his face. It's been days, but none of us wants to quit this old vendetta. And Nate, well, he shakes with readiness, like he needs this more than any of us. But this search for a worthwhile distraction is poisoning him. I want to take his head in my hands and ask, _what happened? Where have you gone?_ It's not my place, so I bite my tongue.

Honey, we're walking the same thin line. We've got stunted peripheries because there's no time to be looking each other in the eye, not even by accident –not when the ghost of love (yours and Elena's) is lingering. And it occurs to me right away that you want it to linger; it's your punishment isn't it? _God, Nate, are you making a habit of walking out on a good thing? _There was a time when we could've joked about it, the sting dissolving from good intentions. But you're in too deep, even without her. And I don't want to notice how the ring around your neck isn't Sir Francis Drake's –guess you've had more than enough time to switch passions. Swallow down my pounding heart, swallow the half-finished thoughts and emotions, and settle on the one that won't go away: _Did I ruin you, love? _

"We've gotta keep moving", he says, eyes forward.

He kneels in the shadowed light of the deserted hotel and picks up some shell casings. Empty. That's the sound and feeling –empty. He whips them at the wall like every hard break he's had can be summed up and defeated in that one action. It scares me. I'm not sure of how many loyalties he can keep anymore.

When Sully rests a hand on his shoulder, he shrugs it off and all of our silences are being filled with the intensity of Nate's feeling. Know it acutely that he's feeling the exact same thing I did, just too late and for someone else. Don't worry, I'm still on the outskirts of your story; I don't have any heart left to interfere.

This is a lonely place that we're all in together, feeling like strangers. All of the light is dark blue and dusty, retaining its own anxiety. And Sully prowls around in this room like an old cat, with a sage directive in my ear, "Settle him down."

Find Nate in a darkened room –all tense shoulders and frantic movements.

"Nate?"

"I lost it", he says, unconsciously reaching for the place where the ring would rest at the hollow of his throat. "I lost the ring."

We both know he won't leave this place without it, not even if it was burned down to rubble. All of his commitments run this strong.

"This place is bad luck", he growls under his breath, kicking a chair down. Our candles flicker out from the harsh movement of it, and all of this almost feels like before. Without saying a word, I get on my hands and knees and try to feel for the ring. It's so dark, so helplessly dark. I whimper and the sound startles us both; I wasn't expecting any broken glass, and the cut stings sharp.

"Chlo?"

"It's fine", I say, and sift through that same spot, finding the ring. "I got it."

And we can't truly see each other, only anticipate each other's forms and movements. I can sense him looking at me, searching for my eyes as he holds my hands in his, wary of the injury. The ring is cupped in my palms, its coldness stealing my warmth; it's so hard to ignore.

"I'm sorry", he says.

I open my hands and his touch disappears.

"Don't be."

He takes the ring from me and we soldier on as we always do. The months slip by and Nate finds a way to pull himself out of his own darkness. And Sully shakes his head at us sometimes, pulling me aside for a whiskered whisper in my ear, "That's the way of it isn't it?"

We're trying hard to fit together as friends now. It's like getting back onto an old path –we remember how to walk it, where it leads; maybe we don't want to pass by all the landmarks, but we'd like to revisit just for the sake of feeling. That's what this late June adventure is about. We're touched by lazy sunshine again in this little port town, learning to laugh again. The times aren't so desperate this time around, and we've got a good lead to the ancient artifacts we're looking for. We've got more time than we know what to do with, and when we walk side by side, Nate's elbow sometimes touches mine. But we're missing our third part, our balancing equal.

Salt in our hair, grit between the toes, rounding all the corners of this place together in search of Sully. Look at that smile of his, all debonair when he runs into a lady friend of his –curves and wavy hair, half won-over by him.

"Spare an old man and his vices", his voice carries. "I can't help my taste in women."

"Sully has a taste for _all_ women", I say, and Nate covers my mouth with his hand as we try to stifle our laughter. We're teenagers all over again, curious about love and sex, peeking around the corner to see her playful slap on his arm and ducking back behind that very same corner to share winks and nudges. Don't we know how this story goes!

Our snickers follow behind their footsteps into the hotel, up the stairs, to their closed door. Raise a finger to my lips, sneak into the room next to Sully's with Nate at my heels. Press close to the adjoining wall, leaning our ears against the wallpaper, straining to identify all of the murmurs. It's that old story of his about the war, saving a brother-in-arms, and who knows if it's true or not –but it ends with Sully showing off an impressive scar on his chest. We've heard it so many times now.

" 'A relaxing night in alone', he said", I say it through a smile.

"As if Victor Sullivan ever licks his wounds alone", Nate whispers, the words riffling through my hair in stilted laughter. We're probably giving ourselves away at this point, but we don't care. Nate grabs my hand and pulls gently to lead us both away, and I pull back teasingly, "Oh but I want to know what happens next."

And that smirk he gives me, it's the smirk of the 20-year-old him, right before our kisses deepened, "You _know_."

He takes my wink, I take his hand, and this day becomes a memory. The days after it lead us so far from it and towards one volatile goal to the next –this time to London, where the evening falls fast and the summer days evaporate as soon as the sun goes down.

I feel like I've been here so many times, looked out of this very window every day of my life. Chase down the memory of close quarters, lazing around in the bed sheets and shake it off to think over the plan in my head. Envision alternate routes and street names, pride myself on knowing that Nate and Sully are counting on me again. But I don't know what my next move is after this. I've been alone for a while, pulling myself out of everyone's attention, wanting to be aimless and despising it at the same time. I just want to spend my days differently.

"What are you thinking?"

Nate lumbers into my rented room, tossing a black tie onto my bed while buttoning up his dress shirt.

"Handsome is as handsome does", I say.

He grins ever so slightly, unimpressed, "You weren't thinking that."

I grab the tie and loop it around my neck, fixing it together like I always used to. It's silky, patterned almost invisibly with all of the black –probably Sully's.

"Nothing", I say, shaking my head. Then a sigh, remembering that my evasiveness was always a problem between us. "Everybody else seems to know better", I continue.

Nate fixes the buttons on his cuffs, frowns at them, "Some do, some don't."

"And sometimes there's no turning back", I say. He knows me better than my words –I'm not scared about our little heist tonight, with Cutter working from the inside, staging deaths and that whole bit. It's more than that. It's my life forecasted in front of me, and not knowing how to read the design of it.

"You'll find an exit for yourself if you need to. You're good at that."

"Why are you so _mad_ at me Nate?"

Stop and start, it's the chronic condition of our friendship. I feel like I'm still paying for the hurt feelings I've caused, waiting for Nate's storm to pass. Of course, Elena isn't here and the only thing that lies before us is this useless love that we once had. _Nothing hurts as bad as it does now, love._

"I'm mad at myself", he confesses.

"Whatever is going on between you and Elena will pass", I say it sincerely and gently. And in a smaller voice, surrendering a tender truth, "It's not the same." It's not the same as what happened between you and I –I don't say the full thing, but he knows exactly what I mean. Finished with the tie, I lift it off my neck and offer it to him, but he just shakes his head.

I watch him put his suit jacket on in a swift shrug, watch him turn to leave and notice the bouquet of flowers I've left on the hotel vanity. If he notices my shyness when he glances curiously at me, he doesn't let on. "From a friend", I explain.

Nate gives a crooked smile and takes one of the roses for himself, biting off the stem and putting the bloom in his pocket like a little boutonniere. It's a gesture of old comfort and intimacy.

"No one ever stops loving you, Chloe", he says. Then quietly, just before leaving, "Treat him well."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** This is the final chapter. Hope you enjoyed the story! Please read and review

* * *

**Chapter Five **

"Any regrets?"

* * *

Do you know what it felt like? It was the two of us, against the world. Like we were swimming in a violent ocean and I was trying my best to keep our heads above water because I thought you needed it and we both wanted to make it ashore. And every man before you and every woman after me was (and _would_ be) like a wave crashing down, smothering, and making it almost impossible to survive it. And as time passed, it was like you were dead weight because you lost your fight. But I just didn't realize that your surrender was _love_. And I had no part in it. It wasn't for me. We made it to that shoreline together, but I had never felt so alone. This betrayal was worse than any other because it was well-intentioned (on your part) and a severe lapse in judgment (on mine).

I was seeing everything so utterly wrong. Every feeling had turned false. That part of me that you had coaxed into life, softened, nurtured, was starting to brittle into sharp edge. It was never us against the world, because you wanted to save the world more than me. _How could I ever tell you this in words? _

All the lines I had crossed in order to get to you, they were the same lines that let you get to Elena. At that moment, I felt this feeling so _solidly_, as if it was a physical process happening before my eyes instead of a chemical one roiling inside my mind. There is _nothing_ here for me anymore. And when you looked at me, saw through my surface cruelty, my desire to leave the weak where they lay, I knew then that I was amongst strangers.

Of course, there are so many others to think about aside from me. There's that dying cameraman and the blond that broke your heart. I kick the door in with one swift motion, and even the wood splintering and suffering without retaliation does nothing to quiet this hurt anger.

"You're going to get us all _killed_!"

It wasn't wrong of me to lay the weight of that burden on you. We were too far away from all the moments that made you love me: cliff-diving in Australia, your hand slipping under my shirt, winning races against each other in nameless slums, my head on your shoulder as we count constellations. Too late for all of that. Flynn showed up and the cameraman died.

And Elena probably wanted to condemn me for that, but Nate, you had no idea what that sacrifice meant in the face of so many others. I'm not heartless, just practical, and the small ounce of grudging kindness that I had left was used to pull strings and give that man a decent burial. Why should I bother to tell you? It would only make the gesture seem cheap.

And in some strange and charming way, it was Sully who understood. He was always waiting in the wings when you weren't, and maybe he was there for the wrong reasons, but at least he was _there_. He didn't pull any punches, because Sully was cruel before he was kind. What was it that he had said at the end of it all?

"There isn't a man in the world who can survive you."

It sounded like more of a back-handed compliment than it was meant to be, because Flynn's death was running circles in my head. It's an unfair reminder coming from him, giving me that look like I can't stomach my own seductive-evil (_and shouldn't I be able to by now?_). God, maybe he was right.

"Better watch out then", I said.

I can't remember if I was joking. But he kissed me then, on the cheek. And it was whisker-sharp and warm and so _mature_, like something I wasn't ready for. He was only a little surprised that I could look him in the eye afterwards.

"I'll keep an eye on you", he had said, and left.

He always had been, especially when Nate wasn't. He'd tell Nate all the time: girls like me shouldn't be left alone. And that one time years ago, it was raining cats and dogs, and Sully pulled his blazer up and over the both of us like a little shelter as we waited for Nate to drive up in a stolen car. I managed to light the cigar he was chewing on, and the small amber glow warmed against our faces and through his salt and pepper hair, enough so that I could see the gentleman he used to be. I had a strong urge to take the cigar from his mouth, so I did. He watched as I put my lips over the place where his had been, then inhaled, exhaled. When Nate drove up, the rain had killed the flame, and I threw it to the side. Sully wouldn't look at me when we were alone after that. All the distance between us had somehow become intimate. But we learned how to manage it.

_There_ was that essential difference I had been craving. Sully doesn't even wait til he's paid his dues. He reaches for what's there and takes it. He's not trying to show proof of humanity, or bring out the best in me, or correct all those wrongs that battered me up into the shape I take now. There's just action or its absence. But with Nate…

When he makes love to me it's like he's pillaging. He takes all the feeling, all the suppressed intentions and moans, all of the emotional incompletions that make me crazy-wild, and he tames me down into _Chloe_. Not just a warm body, a conquest, a fun time. He brings me down into myself. He carries me through to the ends of my own pleasure; this rude, animal heat between us can never abide. That's when I started to hate him.

"You want everything to _mean_ something", I had said. I said it like an accusation, but to his ears it sounds like a description of his inner self. He wouldn't ever be able to conceive of the problem in it. And when my hand pulled away from his, he didn't reach for it again (not because he didn't want to, but because it would be like an act of persuasion in an empty room). How could I make him understand –sometimes intentions are ugly, you get caught doing nothing wrong, little miseries start adding up when you have the time to count them. The world is full of these little injustices. And Sully had told us both before, "Nothing should come easily." Not even love.

"You always quit early, Chlo", he said, words warming against my ear. His nose pressed softly, tentatively against my shoulder, then a kiss on the same spot. "Just stay", he said, "Just stay."

_I_ should have been the one asking him that. But I didn't.

* * *

Elena clears her throat. It seems as if neither of them is getting what they want out of this exercise anymore, but maybe it's because Elena's not giving them time to settle the dust. This is the tenacity of hers Nate fell in love with, and it's destroying all of them before it builds them back up.

"Sorry, what was the question?", Chloe asks. And she doesn't mean to sound mocking or rude, but it's getting hard to tell a partial story for someone else's sake when the _whole_ thing is playing through her head without remorse. She has so many secrets to keep.

"Do you regret anything that happened?", Elena repeats.

Chloe looks dead straight into the camera because she's not going to be defeated by someone else's truth. It's been her style to leave nothing to interpretation, and she won't this time, not when it counts.

"No", she says.

If Elena is surprised, she doesn't show it. She fiddles with the camera and the tiny red light disappears. She lets Chloe get as far as the door, then asks, "Do you hate me?"

Chloe is simultaneously humbled by the off-the-record approach of the question, and stricken by it being asked at all. Elena isn't insecure; she isn't searching for reasons to explain her marital problems if she's having any at all. Chloe understands, distinctly and without any good reason at all, that she's asking only so that she can love Nate better.

It's a precarious moment, because Chloe doesn't have the right words yet, when really it should just be 'yes' or 'no'. But as the seconds fill in the empty space of their silence, she realizes she can afford to be more honest now than she ever was before. And really, it is something that is owed to both of them as women, and as lovers of the same man (past and present).

When they look at each other now, it's like they finally understand each other as women now –no venom, no sweetness, just everything as it truly is.

"You took the best of everything", Chloe finally says, "But I don't hate you."

* * *

**End**


End file.
